148. Balls Up.

“Fucking rude, that’s what I call it, knocking on the door like that.”
“But it’s the time honoured way of attracting the attention of whoever’s inside a house, Intense Ginger Bloke. You can’t knock a bloke for knocking.”
He frowns. I can feel his leg jiggling on the other side of the desk. He feels wronged. There’s no reasoning with Intense Ginger Bloke when he feels wronged.
He slaps the keyboard. “I’d been up since four thirty to watch the Grand Prix! Half the fucking country was up at four thirty to watch the Grand Prix! He ought to have known that the Grand Prix was on and as such he shouldn’t be walking around on a Sunday morning knocking on folk’s doors!”
“I didn’t know there was a Grand Prix on.”
He blinks at me. “Really? You honestly didn’t know that the Grand Prix was on?”
“No.  Why was it on so early, by the way? Wouldn’t it still be dark at that time? Did they have their headlights on?” I’m winding him up. Bit mean, really, because he’s a piece of piss to wind up. Still, it’s sometimes just too tempting.
I’m watching him go dark red. It’s ace.
“THEY WERE RACING IN CHINA!” he screams. People in the office look up.  All they can see is a red faced ginger bloke waving his arms while I giggle quietly behind my computer screen.
He says, more quietly, “They were racing in China and it was, probably, like, I don’t know, lunchtime or something! Anyway, it wasn’t dark.”
Intense Ginger Bloke suddenly feels foolish. He ducks his head down. I hear a small cracking sound.
The office staff do their meerkat impressions again.
Intense Ginger Bloke clenches and unclenches his hand, muttering a variety of swears.
I’m openly laughing.
“Mate, you need to get some different shoes.”
“I like these shoes, they make me feel… nimble.”
Intense Ginger Bloke wears these thin slip on things. They are not anti-static. His jiggling leg rubs the synthetic shoe against the synthetic carpet, his synthetic trousers rub against the synthetic chair covering, but his computer keyboard is metal. His jiggly leg builds up a pretty impressive static charge, like a big ginger Van de Graaf generator.
Every now and again throughout the day…
“You were telling me about this knock on the door.”
“Oh, yeah. So the race had finished and I’m dozing on the couch, you know? Slumped. Got the young ‘un with me. It’s her nap time so she’s slumped n’all, and then some dozy fucker rocks up an’ starts knocking on the door! Can you imagine? I bet half the fuckin’ country were taking forty winks after watching the Grand Prix…”
“I didn’t watch it.”
“I know you didn’t!”
“BOLLOCKS! Anyway, I hear this knocking and I jump up and that frightens the young ‘un an’ she starts bawling so I’m pissed off now and who wouldn’t be? I’m too busy to go to the door so I shout to our lass, ‘our lass, will you please go to the door and tell whoever’s out there to FUCK OFF!’ and she shouts down that it’s all going off in the street so I take a peek between the blinds and I can see a bloke skulking on the garden path, like he knows we’re in but doesn’t want to knock again, and I realise the window’s open so I know he’s heard everything.  Anyway, he starts to leave but then he sees my bin has blown over and he stops. He picks up all the shit that’s fallen out of it, puts it in the bin and stands my bin up.”
“That was nice of him. Bet you felt a bit of a cunt at that point.”
“Yeah, I did a bit. I felt even more of a cunt when he turned around and I saw that it was Ed Balls.”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah, Balls is MP for Morley and that. He must have been out drumming up support. I’d have probably voted for him if he hadn’t woken me up.”
“You’ve never voted before, have you.”
“No, but that’s not the point.”
“Fair enough, but still, he did clean up after your bin blew over.”
Intense Ginger Bloke pauses, looking up, weighing things in his mind.
“That would be a pretty good slogan, actually,” I say. “Ed Balls, cleaning up the streets while the city sleeps!”
Intense Ginger Bloke frowns. “I thought that’s what Batman did?”
“Batman isn’t real. Ed Balls is real. He sorted out your bin. While you were asleep.”
“I’d woken up by then.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“True. I’ll vote for Ed Balls then.”

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